


Never Wanted it Like This

by Six_Lily_Petals



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, First Love, Fluff, Homophobia, M/M, Sex, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, true love conquers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-05-15 13:32:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19296769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Six_Lily_Petals/pseuds/Six_Lily_Petals
Summary: Faced with the reality that his son is out of control, Halward has to make the tough decision to take drastic measures to ensure the safety of his family legacy.  The consequences send Dorian to Fereldan as the first Tevinter Ambassador to the crown.  The frozen ground isn't the only thing to great him lacking any warmth.  Should he try to make a new life in the foreign land or attempt to win favor back home to escape the wild Southerners?Alistair's rule had gone well in the first years following the blight, yet as time had passed, things and people had become more complicated.  There were doubts about his competency and with each passing month progress gave way to ambition.  When the proposal was presented to have an Ambassador from Tevinter, he welcomed the new object of attention for the court that would hopefully take some pressure off his back.  Little was he prepared for how much attention Dorian would draw.





	1. Carefree

The afternoon should have been captured in a painting. The weather was agreeable and the sun bright without being overly hot. The gardens were in full bloom, filling the air with nature’s perfume. Perfectly manicured fruit trees stood in elegant rows with cute slave children at the base of each, ready to pick the ripe fruit for the guests. Lace canopies threaded with gold and silver sparkled with semi-precious gems over the silken carpets laid out for picnicking.  

Each year Lord and Lady Sicarius invited all of the well-to-do out to their country estate to partake in the joys of the carefree countryside. A break from the rigors of the city life. However, the social expectations stained the picturesque setting.  

The slave children’s uniforms were new, but would never be worn again. Nor would the intricate lace canopies which were made especially for this event. Regardless of the expense, all manner of things were disposable. There is nothing impressive if money was regarded as a finite resource. The rules of extravagance were the same whether in the heart of the city or a hundred miles away. One would have to be a fool would think this ‘casual’ gathering was an actual break from the censure of Tevinter life.    

The only thing flowing heavier than the wine was the gossip.  Halward walked among his peers with practiced indifference. If he had received word of his son’s actions, he needed to know how far it had traveled.  Aquinea reported that there had been nothing to mentioned at the ladies’ brunch that morning, which gave him hope.

“Halward!  Aquinea! My, it has been some time!”

Lord Macello Sicarius rose from his settee to delicately greet the Pavuses.  The touch of the hand was faint, but far more intimate than he’d ever greeted them in the past.  Immediately Halward was on the defense.

“I had to drag Halward from the drudgery of Qarinus.  I believe that society has gone the way of the Tranquil.  No one knows how to entertain anymore.” Aquinea chose a safe subject - other people, while complimenting their host.  It also left the host to lead the conversation.

“I cannot blame you in the least.”  Lady Sicarius waved her hand. Elven slaves pushed aside the lush pillows on the ground, making space for actual furniture.  “Do sit. Considering the exceptional accomplishments of Dorian at the Academy _and_ being taken under Alexius’ wing, it would be difficult to find anything stimulating in comparison.  How proud you must be.”

Halward kept his features relaxed but was even more suspicious that Lady Sicarius would be so bold about complimenting their son.  Although Dorian was adept at creating trouble for his parents, there was no denying he was exceptionally brilliant and talented. A marriage would be a marginally agreeable alliance since House Sicarius had an eldest son slated for the Magisterium, which left the younger daughter with less influence than if she had been the eldest.  She was a clever, lovely girl but her ability to add to the prestige of House Pavus was limited.

Something had changed and Halward was irritated that he was at a loss.  As the conversation continued, his uneasiness turned more uncomfortable by the hour.  Lady Sicarius attached herself to Aquinea and on multiple occasions, the daughter had been paraded before them in less than appropriate clothing.  She was prime for breeding, handsome features, but she wasn’t the first born. Halward remained cautious with his words, carefully weighing them to ensure he didn’t make any promises.  

“Aquinea, have you seen our galaxy roses?  It’s the perfect time of day to enjoy their coloring.  Will you walk with me?”

Lady Sicarius rose and offered Aquinea her arm. The men watched the ladies stroll down the path followed by a tiny caravan of slaves to meet their every possible need.

Once the ladies were well out of earshot, Macello Sicarius dismissed all attending slaves.  As soon as they were alone, he visibly relaxed. “An added benefit of the country is the ability to control prying ears.”  Marcello stood to pour two glasses of wine, handing one to Halward. “And I can dispense with social decorum. Let us talk man to man, about our needs, our families, and how we can help each other.”

 

Halward spent the rest of the afternoon rolling a knot in his stomach.  He never gave a hint of his discomfiture, passing up all opportunities to speak with his wife privately throughout the day.  It was important to seem indifferent to Macello’s confession. Even when they reached their guest suite, they allowed the slaves to attend them for two hours before claiming the need to retire.  Rushing things would only make it worse.

Aquinea was the first to cast a deafening spell around their quarters.  Halward added to it, expanding its reach well beyond their rooms.

“I hope your private audience was more productive than mine.  All that woman did was drone on about their family lines and applaud Dorian’s contributions to the Imperium.”  Aquina huffed in frustration.

“Mattius Sicarius is dead.”

“Dead?”  Aquinea allowed a genuine expression of concern to cross her face.  It felt strange. “Well, that explains why they would be so presumptuous as to suggest a marriage with us.  With the Mattius gone, the seat will pass on to his sister.”

“Mattius was caught with a boy.”  Even with the wards protecting the room, Halward whispered.  “The slaves brought the two to Sicarius, dragging them through the house.  Screaming.”

It was clear the story wouldn’t have a happy ending and Aquinea’s shoulders sagged and her face fell with sorrow.  

“Macello cut the throat of the boy, some carpenter apprentice from a neighboring farm.  He then strangled Mattius.” Halward shook his head woefully. “The monster even laughed as he confessed.  ‘Easier to blame it on some low-born’ he said.”

“But his own son…”

“The household slaves from that night, they’re at the bottom of the lake.  Macello said he couldn’t afford to sell them to another master and have whispers sprout elsewhere to haunt his family name.  It also sends a strong message to those who remain.”

Aquinea sighed, “They are seeking to have a grand match with an equally grand wedding to downplay their boy’s murder.”

“Should the girl fall pregnant quickly, Mattius will be forgotten entirely.”

“Why would he tell you this?”

Halward ran his hand through his thick hair then quoted Macello  “ _I share this with you as I know we shall be brothers and I want you to understand that I will do anything to preserve our prestige in the Imperium.  Nothing is more important than family_.”

The quiet hurt.  Staring at one another, they knew where their thoughts lay - Dorian.  Even under two wards of protection, they didn’t dare say his name out loud.  They’d done well to keep Dorian’s proclivities away from social circles, yet they knew they couldn’t keep it up forever.  Halward had held out hope that it was a passing folly. However, the weekly reports from his spies chipped away at that hope as Dorian’s behavior continued.  It just wasn’t right.

Aquinea buried her face in her hands, struggling to keep herself together.  

Eventually she drew her quivering hands down, she stared at him, her lips trembled against her fingertips.  “We only have one child. One.”

She was too afraid to say it, but Halward heard it - _there has to be another way._ He walked to the balcony while dispelling the wards.  His lungs filled with warm summer air. For his whole life that scent had given him pleasure.  Tonight, it reeked.

The tinkling of glass behind him signaled how his wife intended to process the news.  As for himself, he was certain he could be drowning in wine and it not be enough.

 _‘What good is fucking if it’s not for breeding?’_  A common derisive phrase attached to those incapable of behaving like a proper child of the Maker.  All his life he had heard stories, cautionary tales about _those_ type of people.  Many of the tales focused on how households were destroyed and extended family ostracized by all circles of society.  How could Dorian carry it on so far? Maker’s flames, why had he been such a poor father to let him?

The breeze picked up and rustled the trees.  Halward’s gaze skimmed over the sprawling grounds to land on the decorative lake at the center.  He wondered if Macello had done the courtesy of killing the slaves prior to sinking them.

With a heavy sigh, he turned back to his chambers.  It was doubtful that such a consideration would have crossed Macello’s mind.  Disposable things never warranted the extra effort.

Reflecting on his own situation it was clear that he had to find another way.  As an only child Dorian wasn’t disposable.

 

 

**QARINUS**

“I need you to plan a party.”

“What is this?”  

Halward didn’t divert his focus from his notes as his wife tapped on the tome at the edge of his desk, fully ignoring his request.  “You know what it is. Get to the point, Aquinea. I need that party.”

“And _I_ feel the need at this point to ask, ‘Who are you?’”

At times he wondered the same of Aquinea when they didn’t see things eye to eye.  “A father that is going to keep this family together. I’ve already sent for Dorian. He’ll be here in a fortnight.”

“Oh.  Will it be to berate some sense into you considering you have clearly lost your flaming mind?”  Aquinea crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. Her voice lost all tones of honey and burned with disgust.  “What are your intentions with that filth? And don’t think of playing coy with me, I get enough of that from our son to last an eternity.”  

Halward leaned back in his chair to face his wife.  In his head, this conversation had gone much easier than it was currently panning out.  “Dorian will come home and we will announce his engagement to the Sicarius girl.”

“Or what?  You’ll threaten him with that- that horror?”  Aquinea cast a barrier spell to push the tome further from her across the desk.  “You have already asked him to marry the girl and he absolutely refused.”

Picking up the tome, Halward stood while scanning through the pages.  “Quite poetically actually. A shameful waste of wit as he _will_ return home and he _will_ marry.”

Aquinea gave a small laugh. “Even if you were to rise to the rank of Archon, I doubt seriously you would ever be capable of making Dorian do anything he does not wish to.”

Halward held the book open for his wife to read.  “Then I will change what he wishes.”

Glancing at the spell, Aquinea bit her lip in thought.  Anxiously, she looked from the tome back to her husband.  “I...this- Halward, it’s blood magic.”

“Yes, and it will be on my hands, not his.”

“You say that as though blood magic is something that can be contained. Any idiot knows that it is as wretched as the Blight.  It infects everything it touches.” Aquinea’s voice rose with her anger. “This isn’t just your ‘hands’, this is staining our legacy, our whole family!  Not to mention magically mutilating our son!”

“Better this than his blood staining the streets!” Halward snapped.  Realizing his loss of control, he took a deep breath to calm his frightened heart.  “I do not know what you were taught in the West, but here in the city, these things are not tolerated at all. Women have been dragged through the streets by horses.  Men have been chained whilst a mob took turns beating him. Flames Aquinea, there have even been tales of those whose bones were sold off as souvenirs in the aftermath.”  

It had been years since any such events had taken place, but the horrors remained fresh for those whom it shocked.  Sadly, that crowd was not the majority.

Halward continued to press his perspective.  “How long before we cannot keep this hidden? We are a great family in the Magisterium and the other families will be quick to pull us down.  One less obstacle for them and the added bonus of a few nights’ entertainment for the masses. Please believe me when I tell you that I do not take these measures lightly.”

Aquinea left Halward’s study quietly, demanding no more justification nor offering any more resistance.  Changing a person’s mind wasn’t easy and dealing with demons was the only way to accomplish such a feat permanently.  There was a risk. Risk that the demons would not uphold their end of the bargain, risk that the spell caused unknown damage to the body or mind.  

Returning to his chair, Halward stewed over his situation as he had done the entire month since the countryside trip.  He was left with few options and with Dorian’s recent even bolder behavior, time was running out.

He stared at his son’s letter that rejected the match with the Sicarius family.  Halward spoke the page in a gentleness he couldn’t find when facing his son. “Why are you so proud that you cannot pretend?  How could this be so important that you could not father a child.”

He thought again.

“Or two.”

Grumbling, he hated the macabre path his mind was taking.  Anticipating similar circumstances for his grandchildren was beyond the pale.  

Halward rose to retire for the night but stumbled when his shoe caught the edge of the bottom drawer of his desk.  Kicking it shut he paused when he heard a muffled clatter inside. His taxed mind and tired soul wanted to ignore the sound, however, his hand was too curious.  From the back part of the drawer he managed to fish out a little thing he hadn’t seen in years, decades actually. The paint was chipped and faded but it was otherwise in good condition.  

He pondered briefly why he’d never tossed it out with the rubbish, but then a thought came to him.  

Halward carried the little trinket to his chambers.   _Perhaps there is another way._


	2. Changes

A great deal of grandiose language had been used to describe the position.  Unprecedented. Historic. An opportunity to utilize exceptional talents and skills by establishing the first-ever Tevinter diplomatic office in Ferelden.  Dorian hadn’t been fooled by the flowery language for a moment. It was an unwarranted exile. He fought the idea tooth and nail, even after his father made it clear that refusal wasn’t an option.  Dorian argued with his father to the point that it degraded into base insults and name calling. It was beneath both of them but the ultimate fact remained that Dorian was being shipped away.

Bitterly, Dorian packed for his exit from the family.  The slaves tended to his room as with any long journey however, this time Dorian allocated a few additional ones to assist him in furnishing his new abode.  Specifically with his parents’ belongings. With the artful precision of a butcher, he removed items to intentionally leave the residence in a state of chaos.  Every even number of any given set of book series from his father’s study were gently packed away. An odd assortment of silver and dragon bone china were chosen to hinder the ability to entertain.  Relics that typically astounded guests upon entering the prestigious halls of House Pavus were crated and carried from their ancient home.    

“Must you continue to drag this out?  It is exceptionally tacky to be quite honest.”  Aurelia chided her son.  

“Believe me, mother, I am as anxious to be quit of this residence as you are to scrub my presence from it.  There’s no need to rush a good thing.” Dorian directed to have an excellent portrait of himself removed from the great hall.  His father had it commissioned when he graduated from the Minrathous Circle.  

Dorian turned to observe his father as the slaves built a custom crate for the painting.  His mother was in the habit of making vague comments but he knew his father wouldn’t say anything with so many slaves working about.  The few hours it took for Dorian to be satisfied with his luggage, Halward walked nearby in silence as though his son’s behavior was solely by his permission.  

As his mother would say, ‘it is uncouth to allow the perception of anything other than perfection.’  It grated Dorian down to the bone to know that any perceived flaw was eternally damning.

In all, there were five wagons loaded to the brim which left ahead of their new owner to be loaded onto the privately chartered ship.  In the marbled streets of Quanis, Dorian’s parents imparted their final farewells.  

“Travel safely, my dearest.” Aurelia delicately held Dorian’s hands as she leaned in to lightly kiss him on the cheeks.

Dorian returned the kisses in kind.  “I have serious doubts that the traveling shall cause any trouble.  However  _ living  _ amongst the savages, werewolves and the mangled survivors of the Blight may prove to be of greater difficulty.  Fear not, Mother! should I be skinned alive, please take comfort that I am handsome enough that my pelt shall adorn the highest ranking warlord Ferelden has to offer.”  

“Dorian,” admonished Halward which drew a challenging glare from Dorian.  There was a reason no previous attempts had been made to establish relations with the south and Dorian saw no need to sugar coat the facts.  

Halward redirected the topic.  “Dorian, you have all of the background paperwork the Magisterium provided for you?”

“Oh, this?”  Dorian reached into the carriage to produce a thin bundle of papers and one thick book.  “This sad little pile of dribble has informed me of little more than ‘there are people in the south and they may as well have been raised by wild dogs’.”  He tossed the papers back in the carriage and held up the book. “I do believe that I shall find greater wisdom from the fables and fantasies coming from the south than any ‘intelligence’ the Magisterium chooses to share with me.”

Halward remained as indifferent as a statue.  “No information is being withheld from you.”

The book was also tossed into the carriage as Dorian sighed,  “As you say.”

“I do.”  His father’s tone was a challenge that Dorian had grown tired of meeting and made him all the more eager to meet his doom abroad.  “Then I shall take my leave. I wish you luck faring well in my absence.” Pivoting, he adopted a well-practiced smile. “Mother.”

Her arms wrapped around him, weaving a spell through his robes she hadn’t used since he was a child.  “You shall be missed dearly.”

“Of that I am certain, though  _ dearly _ wasn’t the first word to come to mind.”  The less said the better. He needed to leave.

Mounting the fine carriage, he waited until he was out of the eastern quarter of the city, least anyone observe how he curled his arms about himself to enjoy the magical warmth his mother left embedded in his clothes.  

 

DENERIM

 

Arl Teagan anxiously chewed at the inside of his cheeks. A bad habit, but at least it gave the impression of a stern demeanor.  “It’s not too late to deny the appointment.”  

 

“Uncle, I do believe that we are well past the point of casting the man out.  What if they said ‘no backsies?’ We really would be in a pickle wouldn’t we? Poor slob would have to live at sea.”  King Alistair had hidden his reservations behind a facade of humor from the moment the idea had been handed to him directly from Tevinter.  Fereldan had no need of an ambassador, certainly didn’t want to deal with the drama of a spy, nor the hassle of whittling out how the Chantry would react to an apostate roaming about the streets.  

 

Regardless of the underhanded dealings occurring in Tevinter, Alistair saw an opportunity and seized it.  The idea had mixed receptions from the Banns. In his years as king, Alistair had thought that he was well informed as to the happenings within his kingdom as well as his court. He couldn’t have been more wrong.  Unknown dealings were uncovered as reasons to support or deny this Magister entry in to Fereldan.

 

Whether it had been complacency or poor management of intelligence that had put him in the dark, Alistair decided to confront the problem head-on - namely by offering a common enemy.  Having all eyes on this foreigner would allow him to work without drawing any attention to himself as he figured out what intrigues the Banns have been up to. It was an insurance policy.  It wasn’t as though any noble would be concerned to discover Alistair attempting detective work.  

 

He’d heard the name whispered in the halls.  The common folk never heard it, but it was far too common among the nobles.  Since when did a sense of humor and a smile mean that someone was out of his wits?  Alistair shook his head,  _ poor sods.   _

 

The sound of a horn announced the Tevinter carriage’s approach.  Alistair stiffened his spine and mentally debated on the proper face with which to greet this new pawn of his.  Adjusting a crick in his neck, he decided to wait until he saw the man, this Dorian Pavus.

 

The gilded carriage rolled to a stop and door opened promptly to reveal an agitated man with mussed hair, and rumpled clothes that were finely tailored of expensive fabrics but were certainly not suitable for the rigors of travel.  Nothing overly  _ mage-y _ about the man, nothing to remark upon, until Alistair laid eyes on that mustache.  He burst into a fit of laughter so violently that he choked on it. There was no way for him to transition gracefully.

 

Thankfully there was Teagan.  “Magister Pavus!” Perhaps he thought a loud volume would negate Alistair's hacking.  “It is a great honor and a pleasure to welcome you to Ferelden.”

 

Pavus carefully planted his feet on the driest pavers near his carriage.  “The cold is worse than described, the stench is fouler and the entire journey was abhorrent.  Considering your faint glint knowledge of manners typically practiced within civilized society, I would hazard a guess that you are King Therin.”

 

Alistair took a step forward, raising his hand a bit sheepishly.  “That would be me.” The man was more stuck up than an Orlesian. Certainly couldn’t be any worse than Isolde.  Suffering his insults would be a breeze considering he wasn’t a small boy living in the stables. “King Alistair, actually.  Welcome to my beautiful kingdom. I believe this is the part where I tell you what a pleasure it is to have you here but I doubt you take pleasure in anything.  I now hand you off to my dear Uncle Teagan who will apologize on my behalf. Don’t believe him, I’m not sorry.” Alistair took an exaggerated deep breath before heartily slapping Dorian on the shoulder.  “Ah, the smell of wet dog. Makes a man eager for a bout of horse racing and jousting wouldn’t you say?”

 

The Ambassador surveyed his shoulder, a small sneer was poorly held back once he detected a faint smudge of dirt.  “I find myself heartbroken that I must decline the invitation. The road has taken its toll and I request to be shown to my assigned estate.”

 

Alistair found himself taken aback effectively taking chipping away at his insolent mood.  The arrangements for this position were made explicitly clear in the communications with Tevinter, multiple times.  “They- There is no estate, no apartments actually. There is no precedent for this therefore nowhere else to place you other than the guest quarters in the castle.” 

 

Teagan was similarly perplexed.  “Magister Pavus, weren’t you informed?  I believe that we were quite clear when th-”

 

“There is no need for understanding. Although there are numerous issues that I take with my presence here, this one is not one of your doing.” With a dignified sigh, he waved his hand in the direction of his luggage. “Lead me to wherever I am to rot.”

 

Alistair perked up, “Not my doing?”  He innocently placed his hand over his heart.  “Are you sure? I was trying so hard. Practiced even.”

 

“ _ Alistair! _ ”  Teagan hissed.  A small jerk of his shoulder betrayed how sorely he wanted to slap the sass out of his nephew.  

 

It was at this moment that Alistair discovered that he stood a generous inch or two taller than the Ambassador.  It made him grin while Dorian wore a stern, emotionless mask.  

 

“Are we done or shall you have me stand bored until the coming of the next Blight?”

 

The remark was innocent.  Careless. Still, it burned with the white heat of a hot poker in Alistair’s heart.

 

“Done.”  He snapped too sharply.  “Yes, yes. We’re done. Uncle, if you would please?”  He turned toward the stables, carefully measuring his stride and pace so as not to seem to be running away. 

 

There was no need to attempt eavesdropping on what followed, Teagan would certainly hunt him down and give him an earful.  Possibly even threaten to give him a good spanking. Inside the stables, he looked about and knew he didn’t want to be there.  He didn’t want to be anywhere.  

 

He kept moving.  Walking. Marching easily without the weight of his armor.  He felt snow under his feet where there was none. He felt a pursuit where there was no one.

 

The chill turned his breaths to a mist but Alistair shivered from a cold that came from within.

 

There was no memory of how long it took or which route he had followed.  As though waking from a daydream, Alistair stood in his reading room, which was where Teagan found him.  

 

“Dorian said he’s not offended.”  Teagan stated flatly.

 

“Says.”  Alistar repeated.

 

“Ah, so you were aware of your abhorrent behavior.”  With crossed arms over his chest, Teagan shook his head.  “I thought we were well past this childishness.”

 

Alistair hoped he’d never be past his childishness.  “What is your opinion of him?”

 

“By all appearances, he dresses like a dungeon warden with the airs of an Orlesian.  He takes no pleasure in being here and finds the idea of living in the south a burden.”

 

“Has he attempted any magic?”  The Revered Mother had not been pleased when the announcement was made about Fereldan taking on a Tevinter Ambassador.  Probably because she had not been a member of the decision-making process, at Alistair’s command. He didn’t want to give her the opportunity to win over the other lords to block his decision.  Alistair was better at wielding a sword more so than sparing with words.  

 

“Nothing obvious if he has.”  Teagan privately agreed with the Revered Mother that Templars should be placed in the castle, though not so far as to assign a personal guard to the man.  Thankfully he didn’t share this option with the other nobles. “You  _ are _ going to ensure that he doesn’t.”  

 

“Absolutely.”  

 

“Don’t do that.”

 

“Do what?”  Alistair grinned.

 

Teagan narrowed his gaze and pointed at Alistair.  “That smile-wink thing. It does not instill confidence you know.  Now, back to the original topic of discussion. You must make a greater effort to be more diplomatic, with foreign and domestic nobles.  Need I remind you-”

 

“No.  You needn’t.”  An old argument.  It was easier to avoid shortly after the Blight when the only thing that occupied the masses’ minds was rebuilding.  Now that the darkspawn were no longer roaming the kingdom, all anyone cared about was political maneuvering.  

 

Alistair’s eyes fell to his desk where he saw an opened envelope.  Once he placed his hand on it, Teagan saved him from reading the contents.

 

“They declined.”

 

Trusting Teagan’s summary, he lifted the papers and tossed them in the fireplace.

 

“Didn’t you wish to know who it was from?”

 

Alistair watched it brown then curl and crisp to black ashes.  “It doesn’t matter.”

A rapid knock on the door turned into a servant rushing into the room informing them that the Ambassador had started a fire in the courtyard.

 

“A fire, of what?  People?!” Teagan worried.

 

“No Ser, it’s the Ambassador’s belongings.  He didn’t even open the crates.”

 

Teagan cursed as he rushed out the door.  “By the Flames - “

 

Alistair walked to the window with the best view of the main courtyard.  True to the messenger’s word, there was a fine blaze. The wooden crates were neatly stacked and burning well in the twilight.    Inhaling deeply, Alistair felt massive relief as he exhaled.  

 

“Yes, he will be a perfect distraction.”


	3. The Little Games We Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for poor editing, my beta is out of pocket for a bit.

Dorian found the perfect spot to stand.  The warmth was steady and the wind blew the dense smoke off to the opposite side of the courtyard.  He briefly contemplated moving. The ashes might actually improve his soiled-beggar appearance. There was no question that Dorian was inflated with pride, he’d outperformed his peers as well as his instructors in school.  Judging by the way women and men alike feasted upon his form, he knew that his mirror wasn’t giving him false platitudes. Yet, gazing about the courtyard, observing the King of Fereldan himself, in what did these creatures take pride?  Nothing obviously. Wealth is nothing when there is no means by which to enjoy it. What was there to enjoy in this place?  

Pointless, meaningless.  

Fuck the world.

“ **Ambassador Pavus!!** ”

There was a small prick of happiness that Teagan called Dorian by his preferred title.  He turned to the voice to answer as innocently as he could fake, “Yes?”

“You there!  Extinguish this immediately!”  Teagan ensured he made direct eye contact with the stable hand before returning his death glare to Dorian.  “You, Ser, this is beyond the pale. How could you for a flaming-fucking moment consider this to be an intelligent decision?”

The man had actually cursed.  Dorian felt honored. “Pardon.  I had quite honestly expected someone to produce a suckling pig or stray dog to roast.  No matter.” Dorian took one final look at the blaze as it consumed all the valuables he’d taken with bitter spite from his family’s estate.  “Gauging by the sudden drop in temperature, the matter will resolve itself in a matter of minutes.”

Teagan ground his teeth while speaking to Dorian’s back.  “And how, pray tell, am I to explain this episode to the other lords?”

“I suppose the simplest answer would be ‘out with the old, here comes the new’.”  Dorian gave a dramatic bow with a practiced flick of his cape. “Enjoy the evening, Arl Teagan.”  

The path back to his quarters was not a simple trip, leaving Dorian to wonder if he had been intentionally set as far as possible from all other ‘polite Fereldan’ inhabitants.  He scoffed aloud. These people could stand to take a few lessons in subtly. At least in Tevinter he could pretend he was welcome.

After the long climb up the multiple staircases, Dorian flung open the door to his chambers and promptly flopped down on the first chaise he came to.    The servants ignored him as they continued to unpack the few belongings he deemed to keep. Out of boredom, he watched them neatly tuck his robes into the wardrobe and delicately set out his toiletries.  Having paid employees wasn’t a foreign concept, but to have them in one’s own home, that was entirely different. Money buys loyalty and there is always someone else with more money.  

The setting sun stole away the light from the windows and the prepared servants reached for matches.  Irritated at the whole clumsy process, Dorian sighed and snapped his fingers to light each and every candle in his chambers.  The servants jumped and one even cowered close to another.  

“You are dismissed or released, whichever it is that leaves me to my privacy.”  Dorian strolled to his balcony as the servants scrambled out of it. The view was composed of short buildings crisscrossed illogically with streets.  The complete lack of planning was painful to observe and even more painful to have the knowledge that the inhabitants find nothing the matter with such chaos.  

Drawing his eyes away from the distance, he observed a group in the castle’s courtyard cleaning up what remained of his therapeutic pyrotechnics.  He felt guilt, bitterly. If only his parents were capable of such an emotion.  

The city grew quieter and the night blacker, even with the little dots of lights among the cityscape.  Within moments Dorian felt the effect of travel fatigue all at once. One advantage of having watched the servants was that he was quick to execute his evening routine without wasting a second searching for his belongings.  He made a few quick mental notes as to how to better arrange the room, probably redecorate should he decide to care about his accommodations.  

As tired as he was, actual sleep didn’t come easy.  As flippantly as it may have seemed, his actions to begin anew in Ferelden settled hard in his stomach.  The thought that he may not be welcome back in Tevinter disturbed him to the core.  

 

 

 

 

“Ser?  Ser? Breakfast is in thirty minutes.”

Dorian’s body rocked gently as the servant pulled on the bedding to avoid touching him.  With his head sandwiched between two pillows, he squirmed just enough to peer out the window at the still dark landscape.  

He pulled the covers swiftly from the servant’s grip.  “I would rather you wake me for lunch instead. This hour of a day is a punishment from the Maker himself.”  

“I would Ser, but King Alistair is scheduled to introduce you to the Banns before the council session starts.”  The servant had already crossed the room to the dressing table, prepping the razor and water.  

As if hit by lightning, Dorian sat up in bed.  “Am I to understand that not only have I a mere thirty minutes to make myself presentable but that the King himself actually conducts business regularly at this hour?”  Leaping from the bed he continued his rant while hastily rushing through his morning routine. “Oh, then I suppose we shall finish in time to don a yoke and race the oxen in the fields.  Tell me, is there a prize for planting the most seeds or is it simply a matter of pride?”

The servant managed a steady shaving hand as Dorian worked into his morning robes.  “I believe that the oxen plow the fields Ser, not sow them.”

“Of course you’d know the difference.”  Dorian groaned. He kept a close eye on his reflection, not confident in this stranger’s ability. He also inspected his attire and discovered that they had never been worn before.  Matherath spit on the man who made others rise so early.

Time ticked by quickly and Dorian lost his patience.  If he was destined to be a sacrifice to these southerners, he will at least be prompt about it.  

He practically pushed the servant out into the hall.  “Swiftly now, I need you to lead the way.”

Although the distance from the courtyard to his quarters nearly classified as being an expedition, getting to the main hall was less so.  The moment he entered, all eyes were on him. Even though he had been placed on the proverbial microscope, Dorian felt at ease. This was more familiar to him.  Dealing with people was an art and being a perfectionist, Dorian excelled at this skill. There were people who met him eye to eye, those who pretended not to look and those who deliberately moved to put a distance between them.  Each person had their own little scheme, their own little wants that drove their actions. A gathering such as this was perfect for him to provoke engaging discourse. Dorian finally found cause to genuinely smile.  

Milling through the crowd, years of tutelage as a small child came fresh to his mind.  His back was perfectly straight, shoulders square and when he walked, his head remained level.  The whispers were at various levels, some too muffled to interpret and others intentionally loud.  It felt good to be in one’s element.  

“Ambassador Pavus, this way if you please.”  The ever so formal Teagan appeared from thin air.  

Dorian observed that once he was seated no one else took their seats near him.  Judging by the way others seated themselves, a safe distance from him was at least eight seats.  He was practically giddy at delving into all the superstitions and presumptions that had influenced these rustic simpletons so soundly.  

“You appear to be in better spirits.”  

The firm pat on his back had Dorian lurch forward unwillingly.  He suppressed a groan before smiling up at the man. “Your Grace, did I miss you among the crowd or was your arrival not announced?”

The king’s clothing was just as plain as it had been the day prior and Alistair sat promptly, preventing Dorian from rendering any formal courtesy due to his position.  Even though King Alistair had been nothing but informal since the moment they met, the lack of protocol was annoying.  

“I live here.  A bit ridiculous to have someone follow me around to warn others.”  Once King Alistair took the seat next to him, the other nobles followed suit, even filling in the seats near Dorian.  “I have to admit that I’m shocked you have clothes to wear this morning. I thought you had sacrificed all your belongings last night.  I half expected a better show this morning.”  

Dorian arched a curious brow at the ale poured for him but braved a taste for the sake of manners.  “Demons are fickle creatures. They were supposed to whisk me away to the tropics but sadly I awoke here instead.  Though, do not fret. Should I ever have the inclination to stroll through your halls in the nude, trust me your Grace, there will be wails of envy through every corner of your kingdom.”

King Alistair chuckled heartily, leaving Dorina to wonder if he were attempting to imagine such a spectacle.  “Don’t tempt me, I may call your bluff and have you parade around in the buff. I’m sure I can command it.”

The wink Alistar gave was insufferably charming leaving Dorian wondering if this were an act to keep the nobles in his favor or if this man truly were as simple as he purported.   

Large platters were brought out by servants and placed in the center of the large tables.  They were filled with meats, boiled eggs, thick stews filled with vegetables, and rolls of bread.  Some of the guests portioned food on their plates, others ate from the trays and most dipped their bread directly into the stews. 

The amount of food was nauseating.  Tevinter breakfasts were typically composed of fruit bites and airy pastries.  Looking at the king’s plate, Dorian couldn’t imagine eating a quarter of his portion.  

King Alistair pointed his fork at Dorian.  “Speaking of magic.”

“We weren’t.”

“Speaking of magic, I find that I need to remind you not to use any in the castle.  That condition is part of the bargain for you to stay here.” His light tone dropped lower and his eyes grew stern as they fixed on Dorian’s intently.  “You will abide by the agreement.”

Dorian pushed his empty plate away.  “I believe that you neglected to inform me as to the ‘or else’ part.”

“The consequence is irrelevant.  You are here by the grace of my goodwill and you will adhere to the terms agreed to by our nations.”

“A threat.  Here I was concerned you southerners were nothing like us.”  A devilish grin spread on Dorian’s face. Dealing with this suddenly stern king made him curious to know more.  How could any of the nobles take this man seriously when he would be a fool one moment and attempt to be as grim as a jailer the next?  The king returned to his meal, content with their short conversation.

To Dorian’s surprise, the council meeting was conducted during breakfast.  Arl Teagan and two other men took notes as the nobles discussed issues with port trade, trade routes throughout the kingdom, agriculture supplies, and livestock vitality.  Despite how odd the entire set up was, it was efficient with all manner of business concluded after a little more than an hour.  

The entire hall stood when King Alistair rose from his chair.  “I’m sure you all have noticed that we have a new inhabitant here at the castle.  I encourage each of you to introduce yourselves to our first representative from Tevinter, Ambassador Pavus.”

There was nothing more.  There was nothing said about his family, his lineage, or his accomplishments and education.  Dorian was torn whether to take it as an insult or assume this was a typical custom. Nothing had prepared him for the barnyard gathering and informal ‘court’ he’d found in Denerim.  

King Alistair waved a hand at his uncle and them men put their heads together to speak, keeping others at bay.  Yet, that did not keep them far enough away to save Dorian from being approached.  

“I see you’ve met our Addled Alistair.”

Dorian turned to the cracked, aged voice.  “Pardon?”

A bald older man met his gaze with a displeased line to his mouth.  He wore red and green clothing and jewelry antiqued by time instead of by design.  By every appearance, he seemed a relic out of place among the younger lords. “Some of these fools are too young to remember.  I do. Yes, yes, Alistair fought in the Blight, fought beside Tegan and the Hero, but I am certain he took too many hits to the head.”

Absolutely astounding.  It’s only his first day and Dorian is already being pulled into the political intrigue of the court.  “I imagine that war is difficult for everyone.” There was no need for him to side in defense of the king but he also had no wish to discourage this man from speaking his mind.  Dorian offered his hand, “We have not properly met, Ambassador Pavus of Minrathos.”  

The man only looked at the hand, discernibly not shaking it.  “Bann Ceorlic. I will be frank and inform you that I voted against your office being established however, you are here and there’s nothing to be done.”  He huffed lightly before continuing. “Take advice from an old man who actually cares for his country’s future - I know that Alistair’s word cannot be trusted.  The man is unstable. Unpredictable. Be careful in your dealings with him.”  

Without so much of a ‘by your leave’, the Bann wandered off as others came to introduce themselves.  Not all of the nobles took the opportunity, but at least there were some brave enough to speak with him.  Dorian found that the opinion of the king ranged widely among those at the council. None of them feared speaking their mind which, in and of itself, added to Dorian’s own opinion of His Grace. 

“I said ‘no’.  Why do you keep pushing?  You carry the bloody thing.”  

Teagan held a silver shield trimmed with red enamel and etched with a flaming sword.  “The Reverend Mother suggest-”

“She doesn’t suggest, she tries to command.  If she wanted to rule so much she should have battled Loghain and the Archdemon.  Until then, I’m saying leave the damn thing here or carry it yourself.” King Alistair moved to put distance between himself and his uncle which placed him near Dorian.  “Ambassador, c’mon. Teagan has decided to be a traitor so we get to have the day all to ourselves.”

Arl Teagan huffed.  “Alistair, if you would plea-”

The king stuck his fingers in his ears and began to walk backward out of the dining hall.  “LA-LA-LA-LA! Can’t hear you! Have fun while we’re gone!”

Amusement tugged at Dorian’s lips.  Perhaps these southerners wouldn’t be so dull after all.  It might even compensate for his living in the armpit of Thedas.  Dorian followed at a reasonable distance, fascinated at the mannerisms of this king.  Servants warmly greeted him in the halls, the stableboys rushed out and he joked with them playfully.

“My Lord, your horse.”  Dorian didn’t receive the same happy smiles, though he had not expected it either.  

“Thank you.”  He held the reins in his hands and had a jolt of regret.  He had not anticipated riding _immediately_ after breakfast, his clothes were far from suitable for riding.  

“Who’s a good hound?  Who’s my sweet boy, huh?”  King Alistair broke into laughter as a mabari hound pounced on him.  In a flurry of praise and slobber, the two tumbled to the ground.  

It was the first time Dorian had ever seen the fabled mabari in person.  The stories had not exaggerated. The beast was a massive bundle of muscle with teeth that could snap a man in half.  As friendly as the king was with the dog, the stableboys were not so eager. They had backed away, most returning to their chores.  

“Alright, alright.  Let me up. C’mere Rose, I have someone for you to meet.”  Rose didn’t wait for the king’s invitation. He padded over to Dorian, sniffing intently all the while with a low humming rolling in his throat.

Lifting his hands in submission, Dorian asked, “Are you quite certain this thing is safe?”

“Of course it’s not, it’s a mabari hound.  They’re super dangerous.” As if in understanding and taking the comment as a compliment, Rose trotted over to the king to rub his face against a leg adoringly.  “That’s right, who’s a bloodthirsty killer?”

Rose barked so hard he bounced off the ground.

King Alistair patted off a bit of dirt, then beamed over at Dorian, “Ready?”

There was no avoiding the issue, so Dorian admitted flatly, “Here I find myself committing a terrible faux pas.  Either I ask to return to my quarters to change clothes, or ask the King of Ferelden to hoist me upon my mount.”

The dog barked enthusiastically and ran a circle around his master.  “Rose is ready to go.”

Dorian gave a mocking bow, “By all means, let's have the terror dictate the day for us.”

When Rose growled, the king scratched behind his ear, “It’s okay, he’s just a silly ol’ mage from Tevinter.  Ignore it.”

Without hesitation, the king easily assisted Dorian in mounting his horse.  “Your Grace, is it often you find yourself throwing men about? You seem quite skilled in the technique.”

Mounting his own horse, reigned it Dorian’s right then gave a specific whistle which sent Rose to Dorian’s left.  Another odd click of his tongue and the trio were off. It was a given that no magic would be used to issue commands, however, this was the first time that Dorian could recall seeing beasts commanded by voice alone.  No proding, shouting or crops.  

They traveled at an easy gait.  First through the market with fine wares outside the castle gate, then through the shoppes district which included craftsmen.  Everywhere they went, people stopped to stare. Not a one remarked on the king being amongst his people without so much as a small escort.  All attention fixed on Dorian. Curious children were held back by cautious parents and artisans ceased their work, even venturing a step or two closer for a better look.  

“Ooh!  Look at this!”  The king wedging through the crowd before Dorian saw the man dismount.

 _Fabulous.  I can sit up here as a spectacle at a zoo, or trod through the mud to find what shiny object has ensnared the king’s attention._ Dorian adjusted his weight, puzzling out how to dismount with dignity.  

Rose snorted up at him.  _By the flames, if I have to ask this dog permission to get off this bloody horse…_

“Ambassador, where are my manners.”  Dorain reached for the offered hand, feeling the tightness in his shoulders that hindered his full range of movement.  King Alistair wrapped an arm across Dorian’s shoulder and led him to ramshackle stall. “This is Grommy, he has the best selection of cheese in Ferelden.  Here, try some of this.”  

The crowd didn’t give way for them, it didn’t peel away or even pause their business.  This Grommy fellow attended to them while his assistant continued to conduct business for all others who were quicker with their purchases.  Dutifully Dorian tasted as he was bid. To his amazement, the offerings were decent.  

The king collected his purchase and edged Dorian through the crowd.  “You thirsty? I know a wonderful little hole in the wall place that will really add some spring to your step.”

Dorian didn’t move.  “Your Grace, the horses?”

“Oh.  Right.”  He whistled a few short notes then Rose herded their mounts to follow.  

They passed through what used to be an old set of gates that appeared to have at one time been set a flame then never repaired.  Beyond, the dynamic of the crowd and the shops changed drastically. Eves were the merchants and the majority of the customers. There were few humans other than themselves who mingled within the crowd.  Although human children were more abundant than their adult counterparts.  

The first stop was a tinker, then the apothecary who at this point offered the king a satchel to carry all of his purchases.  Stepping out of the shop, they stood in a small public square filled with wild flowers with a deformed tree at its center. An elven woman with fiery red hair walked down one of the dirt paths to approach.  

King Alistair set aside his satchel to offer a polite, short bow.  “Eldar Shianni, a pleasure to see you.”

“Alistair, you lovely bastard.  I began to wonder if you had forgotten about us.”  The Eldar smiled broadly as she embraced the king. “We are honored.”

“Elder Shianni, this is Ambassador Pavus.  He joins us fro-”

Shianni’s face soured instantly.  “Tevinter. Is this a joke?”

“I know right?  I thought the same thing, ‘A Teventer and a Fereldan walk into a bar…’ but then I couldn’t think of a good punchline.”  The king teased but it did nothing to ease the Eldar’s stern face. “Oh, come now. I told you about his coming.” 

Eldar Shianni wasn’t the first free elf that Dorian had met in his life, but she was certainly the boldest.  Even the elves that were employed as mercenaries hadn’t been as brash as she.  

“Aside from being a fearsome mage from Tevinter, you’ve neglected to mention how charming I can be.”  He mimicked the king’s bow, but set his a bit deeper hoping to convey respect. “I’m well aware of reasons to have a foul taste for Tevinter, however I do hope you allow me the opportunity to allay any venom directed toward me until you’ve gotten to know me better.”

“Knowing the specific depth of your evil would be useful in having you removed from our city.”  She glanced at the king, then studied Dorian for a moment long enough to feel awkward. “Fine. You are welcome to our quarter Shemlen.  Dirthra-ma.”

“Ma-serannas, Elder.  Excellent advice for anyone.”  Dorian retorted with enough hint of sass to ensure she was aware he knew that she’d insulted him.  It honestly didn’t prick his pride in the least, however it was the intention behind the words that caused him to be glib in return.  

Elder Shianni bowed to Alistair, “Dareth shiral, King Alistair.”  

She turned her back to the men, but not before sending a final glare of warning to Dorian.  In the end, it was a waste, Dorian had no plans on ever returning to this part of the city.  

“You have a lovely day as well, Elder.”  The king whistled for Rose who brought the horses with her.  “We got some goodies, met new friends, about time for lunch, don't you think?

Back at the castle, the stable boys rushed out to care for the horses as the men walked to the castle.  It was in the narrow, quiet hallway that linked the great hall to the stables that Dorian chose to speak his mind.  

“Your Grace.”  The King stopped in his tracks and squared his shoulders to Dorian.  The gesture gave Dorian the impression of ignorant bravado. The fool had no idea the blunder he’d committed.  “I kindly thank you for the opportunity to observe such a lovely slice of the less filthy parts of Denirim, however I caution you never to humiliate me like that again.  How could you possibly think that it appropriate to introduce me to the head of the Alienage and not so much as a hint as to who that person is, or the correct manner of greeting, or even a name!”  Dorian’s indignance churned in him and he finally exploded. “Is a name too much for you to share? Then you parade me around the streets like some token circus creature. It is apallin-”

The king raised his hand and spoke over him.  “That is enough. I have heard your complaint and I will speak with you about it later.  You are clearly upset and discussion at this point would not be productive.”

At this point, Dorian burned hot with furry.  “Who-? No! I demand immediate satisfaction. Have you not listened to a word I’ve said?  The insult I’ve borne?”

Swift as a fox, King Alistair slammed Dorian back into the wall with one hand.  He kept it firmly on Dorian’s chest as he leaned in to speak. “Stop. Another word and I will personally fold you into the smallest crate I can find and ship you to the Anderfels.  I will speak to you later when you have reconsidered your attitude.”

For a flicker of a moment, Dorian considered responding, yet he decided against the urge upon thinking how unpleasant it would be to explain to his father why he needed to be fetched from the rugged mountains in the Anderfels.  He watched the king stalk down the hallway alone while rubbing at his chest. The strength behind that hand was unquestionable and solved the mystery of why meals were so heavy.  

Dorian scoffed, then left in the opposite direction even though he knew it was a longer walk to his quarters.  Settling at his desk, he made notes about the morning: the people and the topics discussed at the meeting and the small bit about being paraded through the streets of the city.  Reading back over his entries, he decided nothing was important enough to send back home. The absurdity of his appointment was sinking deep in his gut, settling like a rock. Huzzah, he was utterly useless.

He pushed the papers away with a groan.  “Perhaps I should be a novelist.”  

‘Duties’ complete for the day, Dorian took his time to execute his full morning routine to include washing and styling his hair.  The fresh set of robes he chose used black dyed leather for the jacket and breeches. The cape matched the same inky black and was lined with purple silk.  It’s gold trim barely touched the ground as he explored the castle.  

Servants continued to shy away from him as he walked the halls.  It didn’t bother him as he was in no mood to force politeness where it wouldn’t be appreciated.  

The architecture was old and crude but the aesthetic was further complicated by recent repairs.  Older walls had scorch marks. Even portions of the floors transitioned from stones rubbed smooth from time and newer ones cut as replacements.  Instead of seeking out specific areas of the castle, he followed the repairs all the while taking a mental survey of the damage done during the Blight.  

In the obscured afternoon light, he found himself climbing up the battlements from which he had a decent vantage point.  Surveying the city, it was clear that the majority of the buildings had new roofs, new windows, and some appeared to be new buildings entirely.  The Alienage was easy to spot as the entire section was fully new structures. Dorian closed his eyes to imagine the overwhelming mass of monsters necessary to do so much damage in a single day.  The cool breeze picked up to be considered uncomfortably chilly. Small flakes began to trickle from the grey sky.    

Nearly ten years later and the city still had the look of being hastily bandaged.  His eyes wandered back to the castle and he oriented his current location with what little he knew of the layout.  Postulating the location of his quarters in relation to the main courtyard, he finally understood why the journey had taken so long when he first arrived.  An entire wing had been left in ruin.  

Curiosity urged him to take a closer look.  He made his way to ground level then stood on the threshold of the new and the severely damaged shell of a structure.  It was clear that the area had intentionally been left alone. There were some supports to prevent a total collapse, but nothing more.  All furniture had long since been removed and debris swept from the floors.  

“Watch yer self, my lord.”  A lad was passing by, arms full with sacks.

“Tell me, boy, did the dragon do this?”

“It was no dragon.  It was the Archdemon, a monster created by the most vile of ancient Magisters.”  His eyes moved up, and up, and up as he took stock of the damage as well. “I don’t remember much.  I was a babe hiding wit my mum. I canna say if that were the Archdemon or the Darkspawn that done this.”

Dorian gave a nod of acknowledgement which the lad understood as a dismissal.  Alone once again, Dorian’s mind wandered just as easily as his feet. He roamed the hollowed out ruins, stepping carefully.  When the news of the Blight came to Tevinter, it was a scant few months later that a victory announcement saved the Magisterium from taking action.  Not that they would have. Perhaps if the darkspawn had managed a way to cross the waking sea. The whole business seemed to have been but a minor pip in the annals of history.  Seeing it, touching the aftermath, Dorian’s perspective took a sharp turn.  

This backwards gutter of a country was the front lines in a war against an unfathomable opponent.  Tevinter was no stranger to war, however their conflict was on other shores. In all the years that Tevinter fought against the Qunari, never once had any of the battles come near the mainland.  A bird flew up to the rafters and settle into its nest. Dorian’s home had never been reduced to a pile of rubble.  

“Ambassador Pavus.”  A woman’s voice drew him through to the otherside of debris.  A lady with green tanned leather lined with harsh gray wolf fur smiled at him.  “I thought that was you.”

“My lady, I cannot recall the name.”  Dorian confessed as he reached for her hand.  Without hesitation she placed her hand in his and allowed him to press a small kiss to the back of her hand.  “For surely I would not forget such a fearsome creature that would allow a terrifying Tevinter mage to touch her perfect hand.”

She smiled in amusement, “Such flattery, keep that up and we may have to become fast friends.  I am Bann Alfstanna Eremon of the Waking Seas. My brother is a Templar to the Denerim Circle and I do not give weight to most of the rumors that have swarmed around you.”

“Rumors?  What leads you to believe that are thus?”  Dorian lowered his voice with a tease, “They could all be true you know.”

Bann Alfstanna presented her arm for Dorian, then led them for a walk.  “They could, however I trust our king. He’s a good man and my family, no, _I_ owe him a great deal.  My brother has told me stories of mages possessed by demons, even some of the more grim details of those who have turned to blood magic.  I like many other opposed your appointment, but when it came to the vote, I sided with King Alistair.”

“My what a day this has been.  It seems that everyone is proud to announce their bias against me while also proclaiming they are the most qualified to inform me as to the type of man as well as quality of ruler your dear king is.”  Dorian steered them toward the castle, out of the accumulating snow. The icy cold from the cobblestones was penetrating his boots to freeze his toes.

“I won’t be the only one, you may as well get used to it.  Although there are rumors swirling about your intent, I have to admit I’m more interested in Alistair’s intent.  There is speculation that he brought you here as a stepping stone toward an alliance with Tevinter against Orlais.  Others believe that he brought you here for his own amusement, a reminder of his days as a Templar of the Circle. Has he spoken to you about any of this?”

They were only arm's length from the warm interior yet Dorian stilled in his tracks.  “He is a Templar? The King of Ferelden is one of those self-righteous jailers?”

The pieces were falling into place.  The nobles waiting to take their seats until the king was present.  Their appearance in the market, allowing the citizens to see the king’s pet mage behaving himself.  

Defensively Bann Alfstanna shot back, “They’re not - he’s not one anymore.  Look, I understand that Tevinter doesn’t have Circles, but there’s no reason for you to take offense at one form of control when your nation openly endorses slavery.  Jailer my ass.” Suddenly, without observable cause she began laughing. “Oh, Alistair. Were you even in your right mind when you committed to this arrangement? Who knows Ambassador, we all may be the butt of a joke known only to the teller.  I’m sorry to have troubled you.”

Unsure how to respond, Dorian dutifully bid her goodbye with a bow and watched her cross the courtyard with her cape whipping in the escalating wind.  He pulled his tighter around him as he entered the slightly warmer halls. Walking hurriedly to his chambers, his dark mood and thudding steps kept all others at bay.  An action he only regretted once he reached his room and his stomach growled in protest.  

A game of power was being played around him and he needed to discover his role.  The nobles were useless. They each obviously had no consensus among them, and no insight as to the inner workings of the king’s mind.  Arl Teagan was another dead outlet as he was too close to the king and his wits too intact. The lack of wine and refreshments in his room was a strong indicator that the servants were too frightened of him to consider as a means of information.  

Dorian was left with the annoying option of having to turn all of his charm and flattery on the one man that had publicly humiliated him only hours ago.  He shivered at the thought of humbling himself to the man, even if he was a king. Bile rose in his throat and he angrily returned to his desk, amending his letters to include the new information about the southern Templar king.

  



	4. Suddenly

“You should have punched him.”

 

“Uncle.”  It was meant as a reproach, but Alistair’s tone only held amusement.  

 

“He’s an absolute prick who wouldn’t be happy even if we presented the world on a silver platter.”  Teagan took an empty chair opposite Alistair’s desk.  

 

“I can’t argue that point.  I would have thought my time with Morrigan’s constant insults would have numbed me to such taunts.  However -” Alistair swept his arm in front of him at the empty office. “He has stirred things up enough that I actually haven’t had a Bann or Arl pop out of the shadows all day.  It’s really quite pleasant.”

 

Sorting through his correspondence, Alistair found that all had been given due attention.  There was only one left. The sealed missive made him anxious with hope and fear all at once.  When he looked up, he saw Teagan watching him, waiting just as eagerly as he to know the contents.  

 

Alistair tapped the corner of the envelope on the desk before breaking the seal.  “Last one.”

 

The expensive paper had been graced with flowing letters that formed words that were absolutely poetic.  Silently, Alistair rose and let the fancy stationary slip from his fingers into the fire.  

 

Teagan joined his side and pulled him into a firm short hug.  “What can I do, dear nephew?”

 

It took two deep breaths for Alistair to trust his voice.  “The journey will proceed as planned.”

 

“Are - “  Their eyes locked and Teagan swallowed his protest.  “Yes, Your Grace.”

 

Without another word, Alistair left.  His pride felt as though it had been beaten within an inch of its life.  His heart bled. How short people’s memories were. How could they be so indifferent?  So cold?

 

“Oo, Alistair, be king they said.  It’ll be fun they said. Stupid sods.  I should have asked an actual king. Perhaps he would have told me the truth.”  Luckily the halls were empty, not that that was a requirement for Alistair to talk to himself out loud.

 

Once in his chambers, he used the bellpull to have some food and lots of wine brought to him.  His mood was far too sour to bear eating at the same table as those assholes who called themselves noble.   It wasn’t right. Not a one of those fuckers would be living if it hadn’t been for her and now they act as though she were nothing.  A minor little footnote in the history books. Assholes.

 

When the food arrived, Alistair picked at the cheeses but he robustly devoured the wine.  He sat stewing in his own memories. He and the Hero of Ferelden, the bloody hero of a nation, trekked every inch of this damned ungrateful country.  They had endured trials and gained alliances to piece together an army to take on the demon horde under the command of an Archdemon. Each day had been more brutal than the last.  Every morning it all threatened to come apart at the seams but she held on, held him together. Well, he and their little merry band. There were no stories or fables that matched what she had done.  

 

Alistair polished off the carafe.  Was it his second? Didn’t matter. Just like him.  Just like her.        

 

Ungrateful.  Disrespectful.  Bastards may as well be from another country that never even experienced the Blight.  Like the ambassador.  

 

Dorian.  Alistiar rolled his eyes as he drank.  What a jerk.

 

I should tell him.

 

Uncaring of how tipsy he was, because he definitely was, but determined to speak his mind, Alistair left his room and stormed to Dorian’s.  His closed fist pounded soundly on the door. “Open up Pavus!” When the door swung open he was a bit surprised. “Oh, you are here!” He smiled with a short giggle.  “Yay!”

 

Alistair pushed past him, bypassed the sitting room and threw his body on the bed at the far end of the chambers.  “Oooh, my these are soft.”

 

“Your Grace?”  Dorian said cautiously, then sternly.  “Are you...you’re trashed aren’t you?”  

 

“Yes!  Because  **you** and  **they** are ungrateful and I needed to tell you that.”  He stood and walked up to Dorian to point a finger in his face.  “You are ungrateful.”

 

“That is not the worst charge leveled against me.  I admit I am at odds whether I should be complimented that my actions have elicited such a response from the ruler of a nation.”  

 

“You didn’t do this, I did this.  She and I!”  _ That wasn’t the subject.  What had they been talking about? _   Remembering the softness from moments ago, he flung his body on the bed again.  “I need more wine. I’m already pissed. More won’t change things much.”  

Alistair pulled a pillow over his head and waited.  He hated the world, he hated Fereldan especially. How could they forget her?  Forget her sacrifice. Fuck them. Fuck them all.

 

Dorian removed the pillow from his eyes.  “Your Grace, I have some water. Perhaps you should return to your quarters for the night.” 

 

“I’ll just sleep here.  This is fine.” Alistair took his pillow back and curled deeper into the blankets.

 

“No you certainly shall not!  Hospitality can only be extended so far.  I shutter to think how gritty the sheet shall be from your boots.”  Dorian shouted.  

 

“Then go sleep in my bed.”  

 

“There is no reasoning with you is there?  Is that what you wish? The scandal of me being found in your bed?  Should you wish I chalk some scribbles on the floor to thoroughly get the preverbal pot stirring?”

 

Dorian snipped at him as though he were a child.  “Oh? Why not? I’m the king. I can sleep with anyone I want.”

 

“As refined and superior as my lineage is, your plebeian peasants wouldn’t understand.”  Dorian pulled on Alistair’s leg to get him off the bed. “Get out!”  

 

Alistair chuckled, “Make me.”

 

“Perhaps you are too deep in your cups.  Listen very carefully. If you are not out of this bed with utmost immediacy I will set it on fire.”

 

“Uggh.  I guess if you put it like that.  Here, gimme a hand.” Alistair slumped onto Dorian.  “To my bedroom then. Maker forbid that I might have seasoned the gossip mill with rumors I slept with a mage.  Ew-y ew, ew.”

 

Dorian dropped him to the floor.  Alistiar was uncertain whose fault it was, his head was floating and spinning all at once.  “A mage. Really?  _ That  _ is your concern?”

 

Alistair sat up with a groan, bile swimming up and down his throat.  “Yes? Isn’t that what we were talking about?” His hand touched the floor.  “I thought I was in bed.”

 

“You really are as stupid as you look aren’t you?”

 

Instead of putting in any effort to stand, Alistair laid flat on his back.  “ _ Pfft, _ How would I know?  You’re the one that attempts to seduce every reflective surface you pass by, I would think you’d recognize idiocy by now.”  

 

“I’ll have yo- Wait.  Did you honestly retaliate with the equivalent of ‘I know you are but what am I?’  Should I dare suspect that you truly are addled and not a victim of the senselessness that comes from overindulgence?” 

 

“Yes, yes.  That’s me. The only one who remembers.  The only one who cares. It’s been ten years and there is no longer anything to be gained, no amazing publicity... **Therefore!** ”  Alistair shouted while pointing his finger arbitrarily in the air.  “Therefore, there is nothing to be gained in paying respects.”

 

Dorian lowered himself into a squat next to Alistair to keep from raising his voice.  “Who isn’t paying respects? Are the other nobles slighting you? Working against you?”

 

“Yes, but also no.  Politics is politics.  That’s Teagan’s problem.  Surana. She, she gave everything and they have forgotten her.”  Alistair used both hands to rub at his face, trying to clear his mind.  Of all the misconceptions that Dorian could have of Fereldan, he didn’t want to fuck this up.  “Surana was raised in the Circle and joined the Wardens shortly before the Blight began. At that time, the bulk of the Fereldan forces had been destroyed at Ostagar.  We were left vulnerable. They were left vulnerable. Stupid sods listened to Loghain, believing that it wasn’t a true Blight.” He rolled to his side to look Dorian square in the eyes.  “I saw the only family that I ever knew be slaughtered. Their bodies dismembered, their guts eaten and flesh burned. I was a pathetic mess. Surana dragged me by the ear and together we traveled the full expanse of the country calling on the dwarves, the elves, and the Arls to join us to fight the coming Blight.  Have you any concept the fortitude it took for an elvan mage to do such a thing? To stand down the powers that be to make the impossible possible?”

 

“The Hero of Ferelden.”  Dorian whispered, then sat cross-legged next to him.  “Why do you say they have forgotten her?”

 

“Each year we did a trip, or a, a, pilgrimage thing.  All the ‘important’ survivors of the Blight would travel to Redcliff to her grave and pay respects in homage to her sacrifice.  Arls, Banns, whatever.” Alistair's head began to pulse in disorientation. “The trip would have all of us travel together. Each year there have been fewer, and fewer people going.  This. This is the first year that I shall travel alone.”

 

With a heavy sigh, Dorian sounded empathetic.  “That is the cause of your present state, is it not?”

 

“She- I - what she did…”  Dorian hadn’t been there. He hadn’t seen it, hadn’t lived it and Alistair was at a loss to explain.  It hurt too much and his ability to hide his wounded heart was significantly hindered. In an attempt to deflect the topic, Alistair meant to push at the man’s shoulder but instead, his hand flopped on the Ambassador’s face.  “You’re a silly man.”

 

Dorian threw the hand back at Alistair, “Why do you insist on touching me?!  The slapping, the petting, am I some domesticated animal to you?!”

 

“Wow, you are a prickly one aren’t you?  A pet mage doesn’t sound like a good idea, I’m terrible with pets.  I tend to give them fleas.” Angry Dorian was fun. Angry Dorian didn’t make him sad.  With no regrets, he ruffled the mage’s hair like a pup. “Seriously, try to lighten up.”

 

With a growl, Dorian clapped a hand on Alistair's forehead and a rush of cold magic exploded in and all around his brain meat.

 

“Ow!”  Alistair cried in pain while simultaneously defending himself by kicking at Dorian.  He missed. Cradling his head, he curled into a ball as his brain pulsed in his skull.

 

“Before you lose your temper, you should know that spell’s intended use is-”

 

“I know, I know.  It’s a sobering spell.  Maker’s breath my head.”

 

“I’m not a trained healer, therefore, you shall have to bear my marginally less perfect execution of it.”

 

“Marginally?  You may as well hav-”

 

“King Alistair?”  A woman’s voice called musically from the hallway cutting him off.

 

“Oh shit!”  Alistair seethed as he instinctively rolled under Dorian’s bed.

 

There was no question as to who called for him, Lady Plaigh.  She was a widow of a Bann whose lands went to her brother-in-law when her husband died in the Blight.  She still lived on the estate, but ever since the new Bann married, she’s been on the hunt for a new estate by means of marriage.  Her current target was Alistair.

 

Her footsteps drew close, “Alis- Oh!  Ambassador Pavus, what a surprise to find you here.  I thought I heard the King.”

 

“I believe that I should be the one surprised as these are my quarters.  Though my dear, I am not surprised you mistook my voice as one enriched with regal tones.”  Dorian rose from the floor and bowed, his cape moving elegantly as though it were an extension of his body.  He stepped closer. “I must confess that it is a most welcome surprise to have such loveliness grace my threshold.  How may I be of service to you my lady?”

 

“My aren’t you quite favored, situated in the royal wing.  We are important aren’t we?” Plaigh giggled like a schoolchild, the sound turned Alistair's stomach.  “I came seeking a private audience with our king.”

 

“ _ Your _ king.”  Dorian corrected.  Alistair held his breath, begging silently that Dorian wouldn’t expose him.  “He is quite the powerful man, is he not?”

 

There was a scrape of metal then the sound of liquid being poured into a glass.  Alistair squirmed closer to watch what the two were up to. Why didn’t Dorian just say that he wasn’t there and tell her to get gone?

 

Dorian handed the wine to Plaigh, his hand lingering on hers as she accepted.  Her eyes watched as his hand slid down over her bare arm which coaxed out a coy smile.  When his fingertips reached the edge of her dress at the shoulder, he lifted his hand to thread his fingers in her hair then have it gently cup the nape of her neck.  With a cocky smile, he whispered in her ear. “There are many forms of power you know.”

 

Shockingly, Lady Plaigh shivered.  Her whole body actually shivered.  

 

_ Aw, gross, he’s flirting with her.  Ewww. _

 

“I...I don’t know.”  She stuttered as Dorian used his thumb to tease at her earlobe.  

 

“My fair lady, you are quite bewitching.”  Dorian inhaled deeply then pushed her dress off the shoulder.  

 

“This is dangerous.”  she whispered.  

 

Dorian’s feet moved closer, his other hand finding her hip.  “Lucky for me, you are a brave woman.”  

 

Finally, she broke.  Faltering over her words, she stepped backwards out of Dorian’s chambers.  “I ca-, no offense Ambassador. Perhaps...I...good night.”

 

As soon as the door shut with a thud and a click, Alistair felt safe to roll out from under the bed.  Dorian stared down at him with arms crossed. “She’s gone and I’ve locked the door.”

 

“Thank you.  You may want to wash your hands.  Who knows where she’s been.” Alistair instinctively stuck his tongue out as if he had a foul taste in his mouth.  

 

Dorian sipped at the rejected glass of wine with a haughty chuckle.  “I saw it with my own eyes yet even I have trouble believing it. The King of Ferelden hid beneath my bed from an admirer.  When shall I accept my medal? Is there need to call for a parade? For it seems I have saved you from the most horrific fate known to man - a willing bed partner.   _ Tsk, tsk. _ ”

 

Alistiar stood and took Dorian’s wine while rubbing at his forehead.  “You have her then. I’d rather sleep with a sack of wet cats than deal with her.”  

 

“The voice of experience I take it.”  

 

“Not  _ lately  _ anyway.”  Alistair crossed the room to the dresser where he used the wash bowl to soak a small towel for his head.  He needed his bed. “Well, now that I’m saved, I shall go back to my room and - what are you doing?”

 

Alistair had tried to walk from the bedroom to the sitting room but Dorian stood in the doorway with no intention of moving.

 

He held a defensive stance, his voice low and stern.  “Since I have your undivided,  _ sober _ attention, why did you hide being a Templar from me?”

 

“I didn’t because I’m not.  I grew up in the Chantry, yes, but I never took the oaths, never even took the first draught.”  Alistair moved to the side to skirt around Dorian, but he continued to block the path.

 

“First draught?  Draught of what?”

 

Alistiar cocked his head bewildered at such an obvious answer.  “Lyrium.”

 

 “No.”  Dorian breathed as his eyes widened,  “It’s true. I had thought the back brief given to me was pulled from lore, but no, you  _ actually  _ ingest  **lyrium!** ”  

 

“I told you, I never took it!”  His voice escalated with Dorian’s.  Teagan had taught him to never allow emotions to control an argument.  Inevitably the main point would be lost. Alistair drew a deep breath to compose himself, but Dorian took his moment of silence as an invitation to continue his tirade.  

 

“Can this country be any more absurdly stupid?  You know that’s dangerous don’t you or do you simply ignore the damage done to the mind and body over the years?  Even mages exercise restraint when using lyrium. You southerners cower in fear of the evil mages do and yet you are blind to the crimes you willingly commit to them  _ and  _ their jailers.”

 

Teagan’s earlier suggestion to punch him was beginning to sound like a great idea.  “Can you stop?”

 

“Or what?  You’ll shove me around again?  You can’t expect me to-”

 

Using his full body weight, Alistair pressed Dorian against the wall, this time his hand clamping the mage’s mouth shut.  “If that’s what it takes to say my peace, then yes. You are right.”

 

In a flash, Dorian bit Alistair’s hand hard and returned Alistair’s shove minus pinning him down.  “First: Although I am a mage do not think me incapable of more beastial means of defending myself. Second: Of course I am right!”

 

“But you’re stupid.”  Alistair snapped back.  “You don’t understand these people, or the power the Chantry holds; over them, over the nobles.  For things to change, I have to do it in a way that the nation and Chantry will agree to. In a way they can accept.  Why else do you think I agreed so readily to your appointment?”

 

“There is the heart of it.  Why did you?” Dorian crossed his arms. 

 

Alistair scoffed, “You’re forward.”

 

“So are you with your damned touching and shoving.”  Dorian began to pace, his hand animating his every word.   “The court refers to you as a fool. An addled child playing at king kept in power solely by your Uncle holding your hand and wiping your royal ass.”

 

Alistair’s hand shot to his chest.  “By the Maker you’re right. It’s so clear to me now.”  he grabbed Dorian by the shoulders. “It’s Teagan. It’s been the puppetmaster all along!  What am I going to do?!”

 

“Get off of me you dolt.”  Dorian gave him a swift shove.  “If you applied half the amount of effort into ruling as you did sarcasm you might actually be capable of keeping your court in check.”

 

By the Flames this mage could talk.  Alistair remained quiet pondering how best to answer shy of a swift kick in the rear.  “Riiight then. I can clearly see that I am unfit to rule and all the answers lie within your mage-y little head sooooo I’m going to put  _ you  _ in charge.”  

 

The look on Dorian’s face was priceless.  Alistair wanted the exact expression embroidered on a pillow so he hug the delicious revenge whenever he drifted off to sleep.  

 

Alistair shot one last smile then exited into the hallway.  “You coming to dinner? I’ll make the announcement and you can get started in the morning.  Better sleep well, Teagan likes to start before breakfast.”

 

“No!”

 

Alistair shut the door and began walking away at a brisk pace.  He kept his laugh in check when he heard the quick footsteps closing in behind him.  

 

Dorian grabbed Alistair’s elbow and didn’t let go.  “Are you insane? Are you trying to have me killed?”

 

“Are you implying that you face imminent death because of who you are, or because of what you would do?”  It was difficult for Alistair to hold back his amusement, yet somehow he managed. 

 

Poking a finger in his chest, Dorian drew closer.  “There it is. Your annoying sarcasm. What is your game, Templar?”

 

“What Templar?”  Alistair gently pushed Dorian’s finger aside then turned to finish his journey to the great hall.

 

Dorian shouted at his back, “You are completely out of your wits!  You wouldn’t dare!”

 

He wouldn’t dare would he?  Alistair paused. “What else is there?  You want a good luck kiss or something? Ah, may as well.”  He kissed the palm of his hand and blew it at Dorian. “Here ya go.  You’re going to need it.”

 

Dorian broke into a sprint and sent Alistair fleeing for his life, his laughter echoing off the walls.  He would pay for this, that went without question. Yet, fleeing from an unknown whirlwind of fury who gave no thought to his station set his heart racing with excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time.  For a moment, the world seemed real and simple.  

 

Approaching the open entrance to the great hall, Alistair didn’t slow until he was safely through the portal and had eyes on Teagan.  Dorian’s revenge would just have to wait he thought with a smile.  

 

His happiness lasted for the small moment it took for Teagan to frown at him.   _ Shit. _

 

Casually they crossed through the mingling crowd.  “Alistair, I have word.”

 

Taking the paper and reading as quickly as he could, his heart sank.  He stuffed the missive away as he donned his practiced mask of aimless amusement.  “Ambassador!” Turning backward, he knew Dorian would be there. The man was flushed from the sprint and was currently correcting the lay and fluff of his hair.  “Join me. I’ll make my announcement and we’ll get this dinner underway.”  

 

Dutifully, the Ambassador joined his side yet walked close enough Alistair stepped with greater caution to ensure he didn’t step on the man’s robes.  The reason way was revealed with he felt incredible pinch of his skin at the waist. With effort, he resisted twisting and snapping the man’s hand away.  The grip was firm and as they approached the table, the pain was intensified through a thin steady stream of magic. It absolutely sucked, but he could handle it.  

 

Alistair raised his hands to silence the room.  “Lords and Ladies. As you all are aware, Ambassador Pavus has come to us from afar with a desire to learn of our rich culture and strong traditions.”  The pain was getting worse and he had to pause to allow a minor wince of agony. “Therefore, I have decided that he shall accompany me on the trek to Redcliffe.  I have decided it best to leave in the morning and take some time to show off our beautiful countryside.”

 

_ Oh, thank the Bless’ed Bride.   _ Alistair praised as the torture finally ended.  

 

“To the Hero.”  Teagan boomed with a hard frown that let Alistair know that his uncle was just as disappointed in these nobles as he.    

 

In unison, everyone raised a glass, drank, then took their seats.  The dinner was uneventful and exceptionally dull. Although Dorian and Alistair talked for most of the meal, there was no substance to it.  Bland questions with rote responses.  

 

When Alistair rose, he beckoned Dorian to join him.  “Let’s get some planning done before we retire for the night.”  

 

There wasn’t a word passed between them until they reached Alistair’s office and the door was firmly shut.  A tingle of a breeze let Alistair know Dorian had channeled magic once again. “You seriously have no regard for the commands of a king do you?”

 

“You are not my king and I have no obligation to even consider your commands when you so blatantly have absolutely no regard for my sanity.”  

 

“Aww, look what you did…”  Alistair raised his shirt and vest to reveal the small welt left by Dorian.  

 

“As you deserve.”  Dorian folded his arms.  “More to the point, I doubt you had a true epiphany that turned your foolish thoughts from crowning me your proxy.  Did Arl Teagan whisper some sense into you then?”

 

Alistair pressed his hand to the bruise, attempted ‘breath of light’.  Nothing happened. The old Templar talent required him to injure another for it to work properly.  He eyed Dorian for a moment, but ultimately dismissed the idea.  

 

“We’re leaving tonight.”  He passed Dorian the note and waited patiently for him to finish.

 

Dorian was somber as he spoke.  “This means revolution.”  

 

“It also means anarchy.  Instead of dealing with one entity we’re now dealing with multiple factions with different and sometimes polarizing goals.  The heart of it is Kinloch Hold, which is near Redcliffe. We’ll head there, get first hand accounts of what actually happened then track down any of the groups that have decent organization.”

 

“So you can squash them before they grow to be a greater threat?”  Dorian sneered.

 

“No.  So we can stop the violence before it gets out of hand.”  He shook his head. “I admit I don’t have a plan, but that can be something we can work out on the way there.”

The door swung open without a preemptive knock.  Teagan bowed his courtesies to the men. “Alistair, you’re packed, Ambassador, you best get situated.  You shall leave through the dungeon passage once you’re packed.”

 

Dorian didn’t move, but merely raised a brow at Alistair.  “Am I still under orders to do no magic?”

 

“No.  Pack and prepare to defend yourself.  We’re taking no guards with us.”

 

“Alistair!”  Teagan protested.

 

“We have to travel fast and to do that we travel light.”  The two men froze and held their breath as a servant walked past the room.

 

Dorian waved a hand and walked to shut the door.  “Don’t worry, I erected a damping spell. They can’t hear a thing.”  He paused, clearly contemplating something which led Alistair to wait if there was more he had to say.  “Since you appear to be drowning as it were, I believe I shall offer my assistance.”

 

Teagan bristled.  “The king didn’t ask, you were commanded.”

 

Laughing, Dorian opened the door.  “I think I shall have calling cards printed upon our return, ‘I am Ambassador Pavus of the Tevinter Imperium.  The King of Ferelden has no power over me’”  He laughed even harder then took his leave.  

 

“Pompous…”  Teagan let the rest of his insult die on his tongue.  “I can’t deny that he might be helpful but do you really think you can survive being in his company for so long, alone?”

 

Clapping a friendly hand on his uncle’s shoulder, Alistair smiled.  “If anyone can, I can. And if not, well I do believe that you can send Morrigan a lovely card informing her there actually is someone more unbearable than she.”

 

  
  



End file.
